


Trial By Fire

by lamujerarana



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5059357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamujerarana/pseuds/lamujerarana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny's been more of a pest than usual lately, and Peter can't figure out why, or what's with all of his truly bizarre behavior.</p><p>Or, Johnny tries to ask Peter out in the most outrageous ways, and Peter's too horrified (and busy fantasizing about murdering Johnny) to understand what's happening.</p><p>*****<br/>Knives, Peter decided as he watched Johnny sweet-talk the concierge. When he killed Johnny, knives would be involved. Or maybe swords. Like, the giant curvy kind. </p><p>Johnny flashed his most charming smile at the concierge. </p><p>No, Peter thought, scowling at Johnny. There would definitely be poison. </p><p>Johnny slid his finger along the concierge's hand, and the concierge blushed red. </p><p>The really painful kind of poison, Peter thought. The kind that made your insides shrivel up. Screaming in pain, the whole bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trial By Fire

Peter had recently arrived at a very important decision. It was one that was sure to change his life as he knew it forever.

He was going to kill Johnny Storm.

He had it all planned out. Well, his escape plan, anyways. It was simple, really.

When Sue and Ben and Reed inevitably hunted him down afterwards, he would just explain to all of them, very calmly and obviously in full possession of all of his senses, that Johnny’d driven him to it.

He’d tell them exactly what it was Johnny’d done, and they’d all let him go, without even clobbering him, because there'd be no doubt whatsoever that Johnny'd deserved every violent thing that had happened to him.

It had been wholly justifiable homicide, he'd say, especially if it spared the world of the annoyance that was Jonathan Storm and his stupid hair and ridiculous outfits.

Peter could invent a death ray and blast him to smithereens, leaving nothing behind, not even a pile of ash, and Johnny’d still deserve every second of it.

But no, that might be relatively painless. However Peter wound up murdering Johnny, he wanted to make sure that Johnny suffered first, just as much as he’d made Peter suffer over the last few weeks.

Recently, Johnny had somehow managed to make himself more of a nuisance than normal. Peter wasn’t sure how. If someone had asked him before this terrible ordeal had begun if it was possible for Johnny to be any more annoying than he already was, Peter would’ve laughed, right in their faces.

Turns out, he would’ve been so very, very wrong.

Oh, how he longed for those more innocent and wholesome days, when he hadn’t spent most of his time imagining how satisfying it would be to wring Johnny’s stupid, stupid neck.

He'd actually--and Peter laughed about this now, or he would if he could recover his sense of humor from the pit of hell Johnny'd left it in--used to adore Johnny.

He'd look forward to seeing Johnny, and walk away feeling like a million bucks just because Johnny'd smiled at him.

(Okay. Peter admitted it. He'd maybe had _some_ feelings for Johnny. The pesky, embarrassing kind that wouldn't go away, no matter how often he told himself that someone like Johnny could never be interested in someone like him.

Okay, okay, so maybe he had a _lot_ of feelings for Johnny. Not that he'd ever admit that to Johnny, or, well, _anyone_.)

But now, after, he’d been subjected to this…this hell, he could hardly even remember what it'd been like. No, scratch that. It was _worse_ than hell. It was like being stuck in New York traffic at rush hour, in 100 degree weather, when your air conditioning was broken.

Yeah, it was like that.

Peter mostly just didn’t know what had gotten into Johnny. They’d been going along in their friendship perfectly normally, with Johnny only inflicting his presence on Peter occasionally, and then this had all somehow started.

Come to think of it, it’d been the night of the sex tape.

Not that Peter’d made a sex tape with Johnny, oh no. That stupid he was not. Despite what some people might think, he did actually have some small sense of self-preservation. (Not that he'd mind the sex part. It was mostly just the taping it he'd object to.)

No, Johnny’d made a sex tape with a poor unsuspecting girl (or rather, the poor unsuspecting girl had made one without Johnny knowing about it, not that Johnny minded that--and who the hell didn't mind being _filmed_ having _sex_?).

But ever since the sex tape fiasco, Johnny had seemed to want to spend unusually large amounts of time with Peter, doing stuff and going places they normally didn’t go together. Maybe he was grateful Peter’d helped him keep the world from seeing him having sex?

No, that couldn’t be it. Johnny wouldn’t care about that. He’d probably brag about it, knowing him.

Peter wasn’t sure what was going on in Johnny’s brain (if he even had one, and Peter would bet good money against it), something that had been made clear at the end of the sex tape fiasco, when Johnny’d asked Peter back to his place to watch said sex tape. Peter’d thought it was an extraordinarily strange invitation, and so he had, of course, declined.

He couldn’t figure out why Johnny’d _want_ him to watch his sex tape. While sitting right next to him. In the same room.

Was this…did Johnny think that was a _normal_ thing to do with your friends? Did Johnny and his other friends (did Johnny _have_ other friends? was there really someone else out there who could tolerate his company?) sit around watching each other’s sex tapes, like it was something regular people did? Did they comment on each other's performance the way other people did with gymnastics or something? Ten out of ten for you, but just 1.6 for you, because, come on, that was pretty damn nasty, and not in the good way? 

Ugh, god, so weird.

Well, Peter wasn’t a glamorous, wild, depraved playboy. He was a nice, respectable, middle-class guy, and he was going to stay that way, which meant not letting Johnny Storm drag him into a life of vice and depravity.

* * *

The weekend after the sex tape, Johnny’d texted Peter the address for what Peter assumed would be a nightclub. How very wrong he was.

He walked through the seedy-looking doorway apprehensively, and whatever he’d feared would be behind that door, the reality had been far, far worse.

It turned out to be a strip club. More specifically, a superhero-themed and very, very gay strip club.

Peter froze in the doorway when he realized where he was, because, no, Johnny, no.

Peter found it extremely disorienting, as he was searching for Johnny in the crowd (the place was _popular_ , urgh, how embarrassing), seeing scantily-clad Captain America lookalikes giving raunchy lap dances. Steve would never do that, not in a million years. Steve probably had no idea strippers or lap dancing even existed (and if he did, Peter didn’t want to know he knew). 

Peter finally (thank god) spotted Johnny over in the VIP area (of _course_ Johnny was in the VIP area) getting a lap dance from what looked like a Namor stripper.

They hadn’t even bothered to change the costume at all. Heh. Apparently green scaly panties were perfect clothes for strippers. Peter’d have to be sure to point that out the next time he saw Namor.

And then he'd be eaten by sharks or a blue whale or something, because Namor had zero sense of humor.

Still, it was kind of weird that Johnny was getting a lap dance from a Namor, given Namor’s history with the FF, and especially Johnny’s sister.

“I am finding out so much more about your weird fetishes right now than I ever wanted to know,” Peter said by way of greeting, crossing his arms and glowering down at Johnny disapprovingly. “Why am I here?”

“Peter!” Johnny said gleefully, stuffing a couple of bills in Namor-stripper’s panties and shooing him away. “You made it! I was starting to think you weren’t gonna.”

“Cut the pleasantries,” Peter said, doing his best to sound as ill-tempered as possible, because at the moment he was. “Why am I here, Storm?”

“To…hang out with me?” Johnny said, frowning as though he didn’t quite understand what Peter was asking him.

“ _This_ is your idea of an acceptable hanging out activity?” Peter asked skeptically. “This isn’t an acceptable hanging out activity, Johnny.”

"Plenty of dudes hang out at strip joints together, Pete!" Johnny protested indignantly.

"What on earth made you think _I_ was one of them?" Peter shot back. "Because I'm _not_. What have I ever said or done that would make you think I'm into goddamn _strip clubs_ , Storm?"

“Look," Johnny snapped. "There’s just something I want you to see, okay? Just sit down, try not to be a jerk, and be patient, yeah?”

“Give me one good reason why I should,” Peter said crossly.

“Because we're pals, and I saved your life that one time!" Johnny said heatedly.

“Cool off, Torchy," Peter said, relenting, because it was true, Johnny had saved his life that one time with the spaceship, and Peter did kinda owe him, especially since his pogo plane had been destroyed, and those things were pretty expensive. Reed had probably yelled. "I'll wait. I won't be happy about waiting, but I'll wait." He stared up at the ceiling for a beat, because he figured that was a safe place to put his eyes. "How long am I supposed to wait, exactly?”

“I don’t know how long it’ll take, Pete,” Johnny sighed, annoyed, and looking a little crestfallen at how badly Peter seemed to be reacting to this place.

It made Peter feel guilty for a moment. Johnny’d probably genuinely thought Peter’d get a kick out of it, because he had a diseased mind and of course he would, and now he was hurt that Peter seemed to be hating every second of it (and oh, he _was_ ).

“You even _try_ to get a stripper to give me a lap dance, Storm, and I am out of here,” Peter warned. “I don’t need to be traumatized for life by getting a lap dance from Iron Man or something, thanks.”

“You…really don’t want a lap dance, Pete?” Johnny said, thrown. “But we’re at a strip club. It’s what you do here.”

“ _No_ ,” Peter said firmly.

"Oh my god," Johnny said, pressing a hand to his forehead like he was the injured party here (really, Storm?). "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Peter chose not to answer that, because if he did there might be hysterical weeping. On his part, not Johnny's. “Just…get me a drink, will you? Get me many, many drinks.”

Johnny slid a fruity green cocktail over to him with a cocky grin. “Already did, pal.”

Peter held it up to the light and examined it skeptically. “What is this?”

“Appletini,” Johnny said. “They’re good. Bottoms up, Parker.”

Peter took a hesitant sip. “Taste like apple-flavored lollipops,” he announced, making a face.

“And who doesn’t love apple-flavored lollipops?” Johnny replied.

“I don’t know how much I like it in my alcohol,” Peter said.

“Oh,” Johnny said, looking crestfallen again. “Okay.”

* * *

After about six of those appletinis, Peter had to admit they weren’t too bad. At least they gave him something to look at that wasn’t a bunch of strippers dressed like all of his friends and co-workers giving a bunch of horny men, young and old, lap dances. Yuck.

It took about an hour, and Peter was just on the verge of taking off, but Johnny finally started slapping Peter’s arm eagerly and saying excitedly, “This is it, Pete! This is it! You’re gonna _love_ this!”

Peter managed to wind up somewhere very far past horrified and in the vicinity of traumatized for life when he saw the next stripper walk out.

The guy was dressed like him. Well, Spider-Man.

Peter could only watch, mesmerized, open-mouthed, as the guy went through a very intricate routine that actually seemed to be based on studying the real Spidey's moves, because he did a pretty good job of mimicking Peter’s body language.

The audience was very appreciative and rambunctious, and the catcalls were particularly mortifying for Peter, because some of them commented on his (the real Spider-Man’s) body. And flexibility. And ass.

Oh god. 

Peter would never be able to unsee or unhear this, not ever. For the rest of his life, always, the memory of this particular horrible, _horrible_ night would always be there.

Oh god.

And it was Johnny Storm who’d made it happen, and Johnny Storm who was beaming away at him eagerly afterwards as though he expected Peter to be excited, when Peter was really busy fantasizing about what it'd feel like to strangle him. Pretty good, he imagined.

“That was the single most horrifying thing that has ever happened to me, and my life has been an unending series of horrifying events,” Peter declared, once he managed to get his brain working again.

Johnny’s smile vanished. “You didn’t like it?” he said, hurt.

“ _Why would I like that, Johnny_?!” Peter said very loudly, waving his hands around frantically. “Who in their _right minds_ would like that?”

“I did,” Johnny said petulantly, raising his hand. “He’s the best stripper in this joint.”

"First of all," Peter pointed out, "I said in their right minds, and you clearly aren't. Second of all, he was a stripper,” he dropped his voice to nearly a whisper, “of _me_. I never wanted to know this existed. I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing this existed,” he lamented, “if it wasn’t for _you_. I regret the day I met you. Right now, that is at the top of the list of things I regret in my life. Right alongside going on a field trip where I got bit by a radioactive spider. Right there, right next to it, not below it, mind you, it reads, ‘Day I met Johnny Storm. Worst _ever_.’”

“Peter,” Johnny chided. “I really think you’re overreacting. Again.”

“No!” Peter roared. “No, I am not!” He got to his feet. “Look, I’m going home now.”

“But I wanted—” Johnny began helplessly.

“Wanted what?” Peter said, crossing his arms and glaring down at Johnny.

“Never mind,” Johnny muttered, sinking down in his seat and sulking. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Later, Storm,” Peter said, and got the hell out of there as fast as he could.

But not before he made the serious mistake of turning around and seeing a very appreciative Johnny getting a lap dance from Spidey-stripper.

Okay, now _that_ was just weird.

* * *

Peter groaned a few nights later when he looked up and saw a message from Johnny burning in the sky, begging him to meet Johnny at the Statue of Liberty. 

Peter didn't really want to go, but it might be important FF business, so he sighed and started winding his way over there.

The Statue of Liberty was on an abandoned island in the middle of a bay. What was the worst that could happen? Even Johnny couldn't ruin that.

* * *

Heh. Peter really needed to stop underestimating Johnny's capacity for screwing everything up.

Because right now? He and Johnny were stuck on top of the Statue of Liberty as it was _walking_ towards Manhattan. 

Peter wasn't too sure what had happened. It had all started out perfectly innocently.

Turned out, Johnny had just wanted to hang, and he'd even brought a bottle of wine with him that looked very old and very expensive, and Peter, because he was stupid where Johnny was concerned, had so very foolishly agreed.

They'd just hung out, drunk wine, and laughed their asses off, and Peter had started to let his guard down, because Johnny was being himself for the first time in a while, and Peter was starting to remember why he liked him so much, and, oh, he _did_.

 _Big_ mistake.

Peter'd laughed so hard at Johnny's jokes that he'd collapsed back against the Statue, staring up at the starry night sky and giggling quietly to himself.

Johnny'd surprised him, though. He'd leaned over Peter, so that his face was only a few inches away. 

"Peter," Johnny'd whispered, voice softer than Peter'd ever heard it, something in his eyes that Peter'd never seen before. Peter could've sworn that his face was getting closer, almost like Johnny had wanted to...but that was crazy, right? Peter'd just been drunk, and misread the whole thing. That must've been what'd happened.

Didn't matter, because next thing he knew, he was hanging on for dear life as the Statue of Liberty waded across the bay, trying to convince himself this was really happening.

He supposed he'd better call the Avengers in, and Johnny'd better call the FF.

Oh god. Steve and Reed were gonna be _so pissed_ if he and Johnny wound up destroying a national landmark. Not to mention all of the paperwork that SHIELD would make them fill out. 

This was a _disaster_.

Peter was starting to think he should maybe just avoid hanging out with Johnny completely. It never ended well.

* * *

It was possessed. The bottle of wine, it turned out, or so Dr. Strange told them, was possessed.

_Johnny had given Peter possessed wine to drink._

Peter was  _not_ happy about that. Not happy at all.

He tried to convey that to Johnny by glaring at him pointedly the whole time Strange was talking to them (read: lecturing them like he was talking to a couple of five-year-old kids).

Johnny'd gotten pretty good at picking up Peter's facial expressions through the mask. Peter was _positive_ he knew he was being glared at right now. He'd _better_ know he was being glared at.

* * *

Peter wound up feeling pretty sorry for the ghost by the end, because it turned out she had been a very talented eighteen-year-old witch from 17th-century France, who was very disoriented to suddenly wake up and find herself 151 feet tall, in the future, and sans the vampire girlfriend whose forbidden love had led to her being cursed. She hadn't meant to hurt anyone.

Peter even managed to talk Strange into promising to help her find her girlfriend.

* * *

Damage was done to the Statue of Liberty while Strange tried to exorcise it, while everyone else, Avengers, the FF, even the X-Men, did their best to keep it from squashing innocent bystanders, and it was all Johnny's fault.

Well, maybe 90% Johnny's fault and about 10% Peter's, because Peter really should've known better and asked one hell of a lot more questions before he went along with anything Johnny told him to do. 

Worse yet, everyone treated him and Johnny like they were stupid, bumbling kids, like they used to do years ago when he and Johnny really  _had_ been. 

Reed yelled at them, and then Steve, and Doc Strange, and Sue all took their turns, and things got even worse when Logan and Ben laughed at them for being idiots.

Peter'd worked _hard_ to get other heroes to start taking him a little more seriously, and Johnny'd undone all of it in a single night. 

Peter wondered  _exactly_ how pissed off at him Sue would be if he really _did_ decide to murder Johnny. It might be worth incurring her wrath.

* * *

Peter’d had the _worst_ day. One of those days when everything that _could_ go wrong _had_ gone wrong, it seemed like.

Now he was climbing wearily up the stairs to his apartment. He was going to take a nice long bath, and then sleep for days.

Dammit, he thought as he got closer to his apartment. Some stupid idiot on his floor was playing loud music. Probably having a party.

Dammit.

So much for his hopes of getting some sleep, finally.

Peter sighed and stuck his key in his door.

He frowned. Hey, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t locked.

He opened the door cautiously, and then his mouth dropped open the second he saw what was inside.

It was full of people _he didn't know_ , dancing and drinking.

Dozens and dozens of _complete strangers_ having a raucously loud party. In _his_ apartment.

“Peter!” an annoyingly familiar voice called, a voice that made Peter's teeth go on edge.

Suddenly everything began to click into place, and Peter’s hands immediately began to curl into fists.

Johnny came running up and threw an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Surprise!” he yelled.

“Why are people I don’t know and have never met before in my life _partying_ in my goddamn apartment, Johnny?” Peter demanded.

“I decided to throw you a party,” Johnny said gleefully. “You know, because I’m considerate like that.”

“It is _not_ my birthday,” Peter reminded him through gritted teeth.

“I know, buddy,” Johnny said placatingly. “This is just a thank you for being you. Also, an apology for getting you into trouble with the whole Statue of Liberty thing.”

“Message received. Now how about you get them out of here so I can get some sleep?”

“C’mon, Pete,” Johnny wheedled. “Don’t be like that. Live a little.”

“I don’t even _know_ any of these people,” Peter pointed out, trying _not_ to burst into hysterics, because why, God, why had you cursed him with Johnny Storm's friendship? What had Peter ever done, to _anyone_ , to deserve _any_ of this? "Also, it's Wednesday."

“Well, yeah,” Johnny hedged, rubbing the back of his neck, “but, uh, I didn’t exactly have the names and numbers of, uh, all of your friends, so I invited mine. It woulda been kinda embarrassing if there’d only been like two people here. But look!” He pointed at an unmistakable shock of red hair. “MJ is here!”

“Oh wow,” Peter said flatly, unimpressed. “One whole person that I actually have met before.”

“That’s what parties are for, dummy,” Johnny pointed out. “Go mingle. Meet people. Make new friends. Consider it my present, from me to you.”

"Okay, spill," Peter said, narrowing his eyes at Johnny. "You wanted to have this party in the Baxter Building, but Sue said no."

"What?" Johnny said indignantly. "No! I swear, this party is all for you!"

"Uh-huh," Peter said skeptically. "And I'm the Queen of England."

"No, really!" Johnny insisted. "C'mon, Parker, when have I ever lied to you?"

" _All_ the time?" Peter said.

" _Lies_ ," Johnny said. "That is a _lie_. I don't lie to you! Name _one_ time I have lied to you."

"Last week," Peter said, and it was sad how he didn't even have to stop and think about it. "I asked you if I had ketchup on my face and you said no. I had a _lot_ of ketchup on my face, Johnny. I went to work like that. It was two hours before anyone pointed it out."

Johnny threw his head back and laughed. "Oh yeah," he snickered. "That was _hilarious_. Totally worth the screechy phone call."

Peter tossed him a look that said he disagreed.

Johnny sighed. "C'mon, Parker, loosen up and have some fun for once! Don't be a wet blanket at your own party!"

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed heavily, and decided to give up. There was no reasoning with Johnny when he was like this, and Peter couldn't exactly escape from him this time, because this was his house. “Fine!” he said irritably. “Fine! It’s not like I have much choice in the matter.”

He made a beeline straight for Mary Jane, and did his best to ignore the wounded look Johnny gave him.

* * *

Johnny asked him to dance. _Why_? That was weird.

Not the weirdest thing to happen that night by far, because Johnny's friends really _were_ all just as crazy as he was, which Peter realized around the time a topless, blue-skinned girl started belly-dancing on his kitchen table.

She was going to leave _scuff marks_. Ugh.

Maybe they really _did_ Olympics-judge each other's sex tapes. Peter wouldn't put it past them, especially after he made the mistake of opening his coat closet (intending to hide from Johnny for awhile) and found a furry dude with _fangs_ giving another guy (who had green skin and _tentacles_ on his  _face_ ) a blow job. 

He'd squawked and shut the door instantly, but some sights could never be unseen.

Peter leaned back against the door and sighed. Something else he'd never unsee, courtesy of one Johnny Storm. Peter mentally added it to the list.

* * *

Johnny got into a drunken fight with a horse-faced guy because the guy refused to say Peter was the hottest guy he'd ever seen.

Jesus. Johnny was _really_ drunk if he was saying he thought _Peter_ was hot.

* * *

Worst of all, Johnny passed out after walking up to Peter, saying, "You're really hot," and trying to kiss him.

He missed, of course, because he'd been drunkenly bobbing his head around, and it was a miracle he was still standing, and so he wound up face-down in the carpet.

Peter didn't know what to make of Johnny's sudden kissing obsession.

It got worse when he made the mistake of telling Mary Jane that, and she tossed her head back and laughed and laughed at him until there were tears streaming down her face. 

What was she seeing that he was missing?

* * *

Peter surveyed the decimated remnants of his apartment the next morning with a long, weary sigh.

Cups filled with beer, furniture smashed to bits, trash everywhere--it was going to take him _weeks_ to clean all of this up.

And where was the guy whose bright idea this was in the first place?

Passed out under Peter's coffee table. 

And _snoring_.

 _Loudly_.

Peter was also about 75% sure that Johnny was currently drooling into the carpet. Ugh. That'd better not stain, that's all Peter was saying.

Peter wondered what would happen if he smothered Johnny with one of his couch cushions. Would Sue be _too_ angry with him?

Because a little bit angry, Peter'd be okay with and could probably survive.

But _very_ angry? Sue'd make mincemeat of him in two seconds flat.

Peter wasn't fooling himself where she was concerned. She could clobber him, no trouble at all. 

No, Peter thought with a sigh, as he walked into his kitchen to fetch a trash bag. He'd best let Johnny be for now.

Maybe he'd write something on his face, like "I heart Spidey" in permanent marker, to get back at him. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.

He could even pin it on someone else. Johnny'd never know the difference. The Spidey part was a bit of a dead giveaway, but Peter could talk his way out of it.

Peter started rooting around in his desk drawers for a permanent marker, and grinned smugly to himself when he found a blue one. 

"I heart Spidey" for sure, but maybe also a kick me sign taped to his back, to get back at him for what he'd done to Peter all those years ago.

That would serve the jerk right. Maybe he'd make fun of him for trying to drunk-kiss him later too.

Nah. Some things it was better to just not talk about.

Peter snapped the lid off of the marker with an almost vindictive twist, imagining that it was Johnny's head he was removing. 

He crouched next to Johnny's slumbering figure and set to work.

* * *

It was all worth it for the scream ( _very_ high-pitched, Peter noted with amusement) Johnny let out when he got a good look at himself in the mirror.

Apparently he had a photo shoot later that day, except now he didn't, unless he wanted the whole world knowing he hearted Spider-Man.

Heh. That made Peter feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Now he was ruining Johnny's life, just like Johnny insisted on ruining his for some bizarre reason.

No, but really. Had Johnny decided that he hated Peter again? Because Peter'd really thought they'd gotten past that.

They were buddies now. Pals. BFFs.

So why was Johnny suddenly so dead set on torturing Peter? Peter didn't get it. Peter didn't get it at all.

* * *

Johnny must've realized that he'd been pissing Peter off, because he called and apologized a few days later. Peter graciously accepted his apology, under the condition that Johnny promise never to throw him another surprise party. 

Johnny agreed, and they were friends again.

"But, uh, Pete," Johnny began.

"Oh no," Peter said, pressing a hand to his forehead. "What now?"

"Uh, well," Johnny hedged.

"Spit it out, Storm," Peter said. 

"I was wondering if you wanted to go on a road trip with me this weekend," Johnny blurted out. 

"Where to?" Peter asked suspiciously.

"I don't know," Johnny said. "Somewhere nice?"

Peter didn't say anything for a few minutes. 

Ugh. He _so_ didn't want to go, but Johnny was trying to be normal again, and Peter really did like Johnny when he was being normal. 

Maybe things would be okay. Maybe Johnny wouldn't be all weird anymore.

"Is anyone else going?" he double-checked. Peter'd had just about enough of Johnny's crazy friends. He was still picking trash out of the oddest places in his apartment. 

"Uh," Johnny said. "No? I thought you and I could use some good old-fashioned bro time."

Peter bit his lip. "Fine," he said. "Fine. But you do nothing without checking with me first."

"Yeah," Johnny sighed. "Okay. I can do that."

* * *

Johnny picked Peter up, bright and early Saturday morning, in a bright red convertible.

Johnny was wearing an expensive black leather jacket and ritzy sunglasses, and he looked so very, very cool that Peter wanted to shake him. Or maybe toss some dirt his way, just so he'd look less goddamn perfect all the time.

Peter just wanted to muss him up a _little_ , honest. Nothing serious. 

Peter tried not to think about the sweater he was wearing that was ten years old if it was a day. Seriously. He'd worn it in high school. He had photographic evidence of that.

"A _convertible_ , Johnny?" Peter said skeptically. "For a road trip?"

"Breeze combing through your hair, Pete, what could be better?" Johnny said, flashing a huge, roguish grin at Peter.

"I dunno," Peter muttered as he slung his stuff into the trunk. "Air conditioning?"

* * *

Peter decided he wanted to see forests, so they headed north. 

Johnny said he'd heard of a good b&b a couple of hours away, right in the heart of a lovely forest.

* * *

Johnny somehow managed to drive Peter crazy before they'd even left the _city_. 

Dear god. He was one of _those_ people.

He sang along to _all of the songs_ that came on the radio, loudly and _obnoxiously_.

Peter didn't like Johnny's voice. It was high and reedy. Not in a good way.

Peter fought valiantly to squash down the urge to face-palm. 

Oh god. He was really going to kill Johnny this time, wasn't he?

And then Sue was going to kill him, so he supposed he'd maybe better call his lawyer (Matt Murdock, of course, because superbros needed to stick together) to make sure his last will and testament was all in order.

* * *

When he and Johnny stopped for gas, he ducked away, telling Johnny that he needed to use the little boys' room, and called Matt from the restroom.

"Hey, Matt," he said when he heard the phone stop ringing. "It's Peter. I'm just calling to make sure my will and stuff is all in order."

"Peter?" Matt replied, sounding worried. There was the definite sound of bones breaking on the other end of the phone. Sigh. Matt was pretty badass. Whenever Peter tried to talk on the phone while he superheroed, it always just got disastrous. "Are you alright? Why do you need me to check that? Are you in trouble?"

"Oh, you know," Peter responded casually. "I'm on a road trip with Johnny, and I think I might wind up killing him, and then Sue will kill me, so I just want to make sure all of my stuff is ready, just in case."

"Peter," Matt sighed, and there was the sound of something heavy--maybe a microwave?--thudding against flesh and bone. "Please don't kill Johnny. We've all wanted to at one point or another, but it really isn't worth getting the rest of the FF angry at you. So promise you won't hurt him."

"I'm not promising _anything_ ," Peter answered, pushing the door open a smidge and watching Johnny dancing to "Wrecking Ball" on the radio as he put gas in the car. God, even his taste in _music_ annoyed Peter. At least it wasn't as bad as that time Peter'd caught him singing "Friday." He was actually wearing pants this time, so Peter counted it as a definite improvement. "Not promising anything at all."

* * *

“My spidey-sense is going off,” Peter announced irritably the minute they walked into the b&b Johnny'd picked out for them.

“Oh, come _on_ , Pete!" Johnny groaned. "You _can't_ be serious. Your spidey sense is totally lame." He didn't say "just like you," but Peter heard it anyways. "You know what? Let's just go somewhere else! Maybe somewhere with a beach, and tons of babes in bathing suits. That sounds nice, right?" 

"No," Peter said unhappily. "Too late. Now we gotta sleuth around and figure out what's up. People could be in danger."

Johnny tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling, gave a long-suffering sigh, and went to register at the front desk.

Knives, Peter decided as he watched Johnny sweet-talk the concierge. When he killed Johnny, knives would be involved. Or maybe swords. Like, the giant curvy kind. 

Johnny flashed his most charming smile at the concierge. 

No, Peter thought, scowling at Johnny. There would definitely be poison. 

Johnny slid his finger along the concierge's hand, and the concierge blushed red. 

The really painful kind of poison, Peter thought. The kind that made your insides shrivel up. Screaming in pain, the whole bit.

Johnny walked back towards Peter and grinned at him triumphantly. 

"I got us an awesome room, dude!" he said proudly. "Best view in the joint!"

"That's great!" Peter said, smiling back and trying to pretend he hadn't just been thinking about killing Johnny.

"What's with the weird look?" Johnny said warily. "Do you not like great views?"

"Oh, I love them, pal," Peter said, making his voice as friendly as he could. "Let's go check it out."

* * *

There was only one bed in their room. 

 _Why_ was there only one bed in their room?

Peter was not happy about that, but Johnny just shrugged, smirked, and said he could work with that.

Peter didn't want to know what that meant.

He camped out on the ceiling, as far away and as safe from Johnny as he could get.

He couldn't sleep. His Spidey sense was going off all the time now, like a constant low-level hum, so he spent most of the night watching a slumbering Johnny.

Huh. He even looked perfect when he _slept_. All smooth skin and muscle (because he didn't wear a shirt when he slept, of _course_ he didn't--Peter was probably lucky Johnny'd deigned to wear boxers) and mussed golden hair. It made Peter want to sigh like a lovelorn schoolgirl.

At least Peter didn't actively want to kill him at the moment.

 _So_ not fair. This would be the perfect time to murder him. When he was all unsuspecting and vulnerable. But Peter couldn't, because Johnny was _far_ too pretty to kill just now. 

* * *

Turned out, Peter wasn't really a nature-y kinda guy.

He preferred cities. Oh, how he preferred cities.

That was all he could think, anyways, when he stumbled onto that spaceship in that clearing, and alien warriors started pouring out of it.

Oh god. Were those _Skrulls_?

Peter turned and ran the other way, hoping he'd run into Johnny so he could buy Peter the time he needed to change into his Spidey suit.

Otherwise? Peter was _toast_.

* * *

Peter had his arms crossed, and his face was contorted into the same scowl he’d had for the last hour of their drive.

His hair was still a bit singed from that final exploding spaceship, and his eyebrows were complete goners.

“Skrulls!” he shouted at the heavens, making it very clear that he was not at all happy with that particular turn of events. “A b&b run by _Skrulls_? _That_ is your idea of a nice getaway spot?”

“I didn’t _know_ there were gonna be _Skrulls_ , Pete!” Johnny said defensively. “ _Or_ about the whole kidnapping and replacing celebrities thing! The place _sounded_ nice in the email, don't blame me!"

“No!” Peter yelled frantically. “No! You know what, _I don’t care_! How did you not know there were going to be _Skrulls_?”

“I light on fire,” Johnny said levelly. “I _don’t_ detect aliens.”

Peter harrumphed, seeming to imply that Johnny should really get on that immediately, because, really, _Skrulls_.

“C’mon, it wasn’t even  _that_ bad,” Johnny said placatingly. “We still got to wander around in the forest. That was pretty, right? There were deer and things.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Peter said hostilely. “Seeing as how I was being chased by a goddamn _army of Skrulls_ at the time. Who were shooting _lasers_ at me. And trying to _kill_ me.”

He turned and leveled his finest death glare at Johnny.

Johnny sighed, rolled his eyes, and seemed to decide it was time to give up, because he didn't say a damn word after that, just let Peter rant and rant at him the whole ride home.

Smart thinking, for once.

* * *

Johnny drove up next to Peter on a motorcycle about a week later. He was wearing that leather jacket again, and looking annoyingly perfect.

It set Peter's teeth on edge, like always.

"Get on, loser," Johnny said with a smirk. "We're going shopping."

Peter shot him a look that had so much heat behind it that it probably could've killed Johnny if Peter'd had Torch powers, and kept walking without so much as breaking his stride.

He didn't know what kind of shopping Johnny had in mind, but it probably wasn't the good kind.

Was there a bad kind of shopping? Peter was sure there must be, because that was definitely the kind Johnny was inviting him to do.

Maybe he wanted Peter to help him pick out sex toys. Maybe he'd engrave them with Peter's name. That sounded like the sort of thing Johnny'd ask him to do these days, and Peter still couldn't figure out why.

* * *

Halloween party. Johnny. Spidey outfit.

 _No_.

The  _colors_  weren't even right. The blue was too dark, the red too orange. And...wait a minute, were those  _rhinestones_?

Where the hell did Johnny even  _get_  such a tacky Spidey outfit anyhow?

* * *

It got even  _worse_.

Later that night, Johnny marched up to Peter (he was drunk again, why the hell was he always  _drunk_?), threw his arms around Peter's neck, and flirtatiously asked if Peter wanted to make out with himself.

Peter laughed awkwardly and said he had no idea what Johnny was talking about, because they were at a  _party_  in front of  _people_ , and, oh my god,  _Peter was going to kill him slowly with fire_.

Which would be difficult, Peter admitted, given that Johnny was living flame and all, but Peter would figure out a way to do it if it killed him.

* * *

Peter was at _work_.

Peter was at _work_ at _The_   _Daily Bugle_  when a _very drunk Johnny Storm_ wandered in and started singing _love songs_ at him. He even had roses and chocolates wedged under his arm that he tried to give to Peter, but Peter was having none of it.

He'd lost a bet with Ben, hadn't he? That'd been what'd happened.

Peter was going to get that bag of rocks if it was the last thing he did.

It was _three o'clock_ in the afternoon, Peter lamented to himself. How was Johnny even this  _drunk_ this early in the day?

Peter smiled nervously at everyone the office, prayed that JJJ wouldn't wander in, and dragged Johnny away by the elbow to the nearest restroom.

He dunked Johnny's head under cold water while Johnny whined about how his hair was going to be _ruined_ , and Peter told him to suck it up.

Johnny pouted up at him. Peter scowled back, refusing to be swayed by Johnny's pathetic drunk face.

How was this his life?

Peter ducked away to frantically call Sue to come pick Johnny up.

When he came back, Peter locked Johnny in a bathroom stall where he couldn't make any trouble, because, apparently, Johnny was all handswhen he was drunk. Hands in _very_ inappropriate places, Peter might add, and Peter was _so_ not in the mood. Every time he recalled his snickering co-workers' amused faces, he saw red, and that did not bode well for Johnny or his general life expectancy.

Of course, it didn't help either that Johnny kept serenading him, because the acoustics in the bathroom, apparently, were awesome, or at least Johnny thought so. Peter was too angry to care.

"Shut _up_ , you idiot," Peter hissed at him through the door.

"I'm _sherenading_ you, dummy," Johnny slurred mournfully, voice muffled. "Shingin's what you're _shpposed_ t' do."

Peter moaned and buried his face in his hands, while trying to ignore Johnny's attempts (that was exactly the right word, because it sounded more like caterwauling) to sing "Light My Fire."

 _Sixties_ songs, Johnny? Really?

And, oh god, was he singing, "Come on, _Peter_ , light my fire"?! 

Peter clutched at his stomach. Yep, he felt sick now.

Why did so many of his recent interactions with Johnny end this way?

* * *

Sue certainly didn't look very happy as she was hauling Johnny away by the scruff of his neck while he kept singing "My Heart Will Go On" at a _completely mortified_ Peter. 

Oh god. Peter would _never_ live this down, would he?

This was going to make him the butt of the office jokes for the next fifty years of his life.

Johnny seemed determined to destroy Peter's life completely.

That settled it. He really _must_ hate Peter again. It was the only explanation.

* * *

Peter almost cried when he opened his door a few days later and found Johnny standing there, looking like he'd just walked off of the cover of _GQ_ or something, dressed to the nines in a stunning tuxedo.

Oh god. What new hell was in store for Peter this time?

"Hey, Pete," Johnny said brusquely, pushing past him into his apartment and shoving a tuxedo at him. "Go put that on. I'll wait out here."

He sat on Peter's ratty old blue couch, arms crossed behind his head, eyes shut, waiting for Peter to do as he said. 

Peter scowled at him, too speechless with rage to say anything.

Johnny cracked his right eye open a smidge. "Pete," he said. "That tux won't put itself on, you know."

"Who says I want to put it on in the first place?" Peter ground out, crossing his arms in a way that telegraphed that he was going to fight Johnny on this.

Johnny shot him a look. "Just put the damn tux on, Parker, and stop being so damn difficult."

" _No_ ," Peter barked. "Give me one good reason why I should."

"My date canceled on me, okay? And I am not about to show up at a charity ball stag, so _you_ are coming as my date," Johnny huffed. "C'mon, we're best bros, right? Do me a solid."

"That is literally the _opposite_ of a good reason, Storm," Peter shot back. "Especially given the way all of your bright ideas have wound up lately."

"The Skrulls weren't my fault, Peter, and neither was the Statue of Liberty thing!" Johnny protested, throwing up his hands.

"How were they _not_ your fault, Johnny?! You _picked_ that b &b, and _you're_ the one who stupidly stole a bottle of wine from Reed's lab!" Peter countered.

"First of all, okay, that email said _nothing_ about Skrulls, and second of all, Reed did _not_ warn me not to drink that bottle of wine! How was I supposed to know I wasn't supposed to touch it?" Johnny replied.

"He said there were signs _everywhere_ telling you not to touch it," Peter responded flatly. "What were you _expecting_?"

"I _thought_ it was because he was hoarding it for him and Sue!" Johnny said. "He's pulled that one before, so you can't blame me for not knowing it was real this time! I mean, a possessed bottle of wine? It sounds fake!"

"Okay," Peter conceded. "Okay, fine. It does sound a little fake. But that still doesn't explain why you have been going _out of your way_ to torture me lately! Is this just your way of telling me you hate me again? What the _hell_ did I do to you to make you treat me like this?"

Johnny looked stunned. "What the hell are you talking about, Pete? _You're_ the one who's been a jerk to _me_!"

"What?!" Peter spluttered. "How have I been a jerk to _you_?"

"I invite you to see a stripper I think you'll like, you sulk the whole evening and then yell at me," Johnny began, ticking things off on his fingers. "I try to make the Statue of Liberty thing up to you by throwing you a party, and you don't talk to anyone except MJ, and then draw things on my _face_ the next morning! My _face_ , Peter! I couldn't let myself be seen in public! You deprived the public of this face for a whole day!"

"That wasn't me," Peter lied. "It was the tentacle-y guy, I told you."

Johnny shot him a dirty look that plainly said he didn't believe him. "It said, 'I heart Spidey,'" he pointed out. "Who apart from you would write that?"

"People who know about your embarrassing love for me, clearly," Peter joked.

Johnny's face flushed, and he quickly changed the subject. "I took you to a b&b to try to butter you up, and you wouldn't even sleep in the same bed, no matter how much I apologized about the mistake, and you _yelled_ at me the _whole trip back_! For _hours_!"

"I almost got _killed_!" Peter said hotly. "I was understandably upset!"

"And then, and _then,_ you ignore me and don't answer my calls!" Johnny continued. He crossed his arms. "Admit it, Parker, you've been a real jerk to me!"

"You've been _harassing_ me!" Peter shouted back. "At my _work_ , Johnny? I mean, I get it, you lost a bet to Ben or whatever, but people are still laughing at me about that!"

A small crease appeared between Johnny's eyebrows. "I didn't--Pete, I didn't lose any bet," he said. 

" _What_?" Peter said, and he was just as lost. "Then--then what was with the chocolates and flowers and serenading?"

Johnny raised his eyebrows. "I. Was. Asking. You. Out," he said, very, very slowly. "I'd been trying to get you in a good enough mood to ask you out for _weeks._ I tried to kiss you, Pete! Like five times! But you! You just kept being angry and yelling and screechy, so that singing thing was my last-ditch effort. I figured, what the hell? Can't hurt. Also, I was pretty drunk at the time, I'll admit, so I might not have really thought it through. But _you_ \--" he pointed accusingly at Peter, "--just tattled to _Sue_ on me, and that was _low_ , bro."

Peter's mouth was hanging open. "You've been...trying to ask me out?" he said, and his brain was having trouble getting a handle on that. " _That's_ why you've been acting so crazy?"

" _Me_?" Johnny said incredulously. " _You're_ the one who's been Hulk, Jr. the past few weeks!"

Peter started to laugh then. He laughed and laughed, until his face hurt and his sides ached, and that made Johnny laugh too.

"So," Johnny said, smiling, reaching out to hook an arm around Peter's waist and drawing him closer, "what do you say? Date me?"

Peter put his hands on Johnny's shoulders. "Well," he said, "guess I'd better. This is me being selfless and noble and giving, just so you know."

Johnny snorted at him. "How do you figure, Parker?"

"Because if you'd tried to ask me out even one more time, I really think I would've killed you," Peter said.

Johnny threw his head back and laughed, and Peter couldn't resist yanking him forwards into a kiss.

* * *

Peter managed to go a whole hour at the charity ball without fantasizing about murdering Johnny. He thought it must be a record. Probably a world record, knowing Johnny. 

It lasted until Peter looked around, and Johnny was nowhere in sight. Two seconds later, he noticed that people were pointing up at the sky and cooing at something. 

Peter glanced up warily, already knowing it wouldn't be good.

Oh god. It was worse than he'd thought.

_Johnny was drawing him a giant fiery heart in the sky._

All it was missing was their initials--oh, there he went!--and an arrow shooting through it. Ah. There it was.

Peter shook his head up at the sky and sighed. Johnny wasn't going to make it out of this relationship alive, was he?

He'd maybe better warn Sue.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://timelordsandladies.tumblr.com/)!


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